Archive for category BlaK Dan’s Theatre of Cruelty
(My brother-in-law BlaK Dan (or Zarathustra as he now likes to be called) has emerged from his cave in the mountains of North Georgia to eat a free meal at our house, scare my children with stories about Varg Vikernes and share his vision of how to save heavy metal from the forces of non-metalness. My wife asks me, as a favor, to let him write for the site occasionally in order to feel “useful”)
Let’s face it folks, the heavy metal world is in crisis. An invasion of hipsters, mall goths, meth-heads, beardos and garden variety morons have turned what was once a great scene into an embarrassment. Things have gotten so bad, the other day I told a guy at a party that I listen to nothing but folk music and trip hop. When you can’t turn on your television without seeing Ozzy Osborne’s wife hocking skin care products, when you hear the members of Savatage rocking out Christmas songs over the PA system at your local Wal-Mart, when 7/8s of the youth of America are unable to name a Metallica song besides “Enter Sandman”, when Iron Maiden spends the majority of their time writing 25 minute adult contemporary songs and selling craft beer…we are in deep trouble!
The center has not held. Real heavy metal is dying a slow, painful death and it seems like there is nothing we can do to stop it. Metal was once pure. People wore their hair long, played loud and wore denim jackets with Venom patches on them. But, those days are over. At a metal show today, you are likely to see a nightmare panorama of Buddy Holly glasses, pink hair, iPhones, ear gauges, and Chelsea Grin shirts.
Some of this breakdown in heavy metal morality can be linked to environmental causes like radiation from the Fukushima meltdown and the widespread use of tetanus vaccinations. However, the root cause of the deracination of true metal can be traced back to a much deeper, more profound issue. That issue is genre mixing.
It started innocently enough. A little bit of synth on an Iron Maiden album, Anthrax experimenting with hip hop, female vocalists fronting death metal bands, Slayer doing a punk album, Pantera… and all of a sudden we are in a vast wasteland of Deafhaven and pirate metal. As we mosh our way into oblivion, it becomes more and more clear that desperate times call for desperate measures. It seems unfashionable to talk about eugenics today in our politically correct world, but, the truth is, it is the only way to save metal from the dark, sinister forces of poseurness.
It is obvious to anyone who spends five minutes at a concert or on a metal message board that there is a hierarchy of metal fans. At the bottom of the ladder are the Hot Topicafied kids who tried to furtively ditch their Justin Beiber loving image by showing up to school one day in an Asking Alexandria shirt. They are the heavy metal Untouchables. If they are wearing a “Ride The Lightning” shirt, chances are they think that is the name of the band. At any moment, they could rediscover the Miley Cyrus album they considered throwing out a week ago and leave the scene altogether. But, they probably won’t.
They are slightly lower on the metal food chain then the hipster metalhead. If you’ve ever seen a dude quoting David Foster Wallace while wearing a Liturgy shirt, you probably know whom I’m talking about. Bookish, frail and generally annoying, these creatures secretly long to find someone else in the scene that owns every Paul Westerberg solo album.
Slightly above them are the dim-witted, slumped shouldered, neckless, meth-addled Pantera/groove metal fans. They randomly shout Slayer at inappropriate times and ramble on about how they wish they could beat up more of the people lower on the metal totem pole. They are noisy, poorly groomed, have enormous craniums and take Cannibal Corpse extremely seriously. Each of them secretly hope you think they are mass murderers, in spite of the fact that they have never done much worse than feed a hedgehog to their pet python. All of these groups fall into the subhuman metal category.
Those Worthy of Being Spared
Above them, there are better types. You have your old school Florida death metal types (Children of Chuck), your loony bird power metal fanatics (Middle Earthers), the veteran thrasheads who saw Exodus on the “Bonded By Blood” tour (Oldbangers), the Eurofabulous obscuritarian types who wander the earth fantasizing about being perceived as the next Wagner (known as Thomas G Warriors, this group was nearly wiped out by the release of Cold Lake) and many other breeds of slightly evolved metalheads. They are certainly not perfect, especially when they want to tell you for the six hundredth time how great Overkill was before Rat Skates left, but they are mostly harmless if kept separate from the upper classes.
There are two groups of true Brahmans in the metal world. First of all, you have your proto-Nietzschean, back to Mother Earth, church burning, Necronomicon quoting black metal fans (Ubermenschians). They must be pure of heart and eardrum, because only they can actually tell what is happening on an early Darkthrone album. To the lower castes, it is simply noise. To them, it is art.
Above them are the serious New Wave of British Heavy Metal people (Metal Kings). They get the Judas Priest album “Rocka Rolla” at both an artistic and spiritual level. They can recite, from memory, every Diamond Head lyric. They’ll never forget where they were the day Dennis Stratton left Iron Maiden. These are the folks Manowar are really talking about.
Were all metalheads to simply stay to themselves and not attempt contact with these other groups, things would probably be okay. But, there has been a mixing of the castes over the past decade. Oldbangers have bred with hipsters, Children of Chuck have mixed DNA with Panterites, Ubermenschians have mated with Thomas G Warriors, Metal Kings have blended with Hot Topicers, on and on South of Heaven. Nowadays most of these metalheads openly admit to listening to other genres and even brag about associating with the lower and upper classes. It’s gotten so that almost no one is pure anymore.
This is where eugenics come in (or UGH!genics, to the Thomas G Warriors). The metal community needs to step in and enforce a series of measures designed to keep these groups from diluting the metal in the blood of the best of us. Otherwise, all will be lost.
Step #1: Mandatory Sterilization of All Pantera Fans
These people tend to breed like rabbits. The average Pantera fan has 9.71 children. At this rate, by the year 2030, there will be more Pantera fans than people in Australia, Asia, Europe and South America combined. Pantera genes tend to dominate all other metal genes, so the child of a Panterite and a Metal King will invariably become a Cowboy From Hell. When they begin mixing with other metal fans, the possibility for a “Pantera Population Bomb” where the metal world is only able to support bands that sound like Pantera becomes a very real possibility
Step #2: Deport All of The Lower Metal Classes to Greenland
Here’s how you do it. You build a really big boat. You promise most of them that Metallica will be playing a concert in Greenland where they will do nothing but songs from Kill’em All. You’ll have to explain why this is significant to the Hot Topicers, as they will probably wonder if that means they will play “Until It Sleeps”. Drop them off in Greenland and get out as fast as possible. Occasionally, you can air drop the things they need to survive to them (copies of Spin Magazine for the hipsters, raw meat for the Panterites, and A Day To Remember hoodies for the Hot Topicers).
Step #3 Use Science To Create a Perfect Heavy Metal Being
The human race has yet to evolve to a point where we can scientifically generate perfect beings, but we have to prepare for a day when this is possible. We must make an effort to collect all the DNA from people who purchased the first two Maiden albums on vinyl before 1983 and still have them in pristine condition. We will use that DNA to one day create a Metal Messiah. This Metal Messiah will destroy all those who have false metal blood and lift all those pure in thought and gene to their rightful place as masters of the lower animals. And then, we won’t have to talk to them anymore.
Black metal, BlaK Dan, David Foster Wallace, eugenics, heavymetalmusic, Hipsters, Hot Topic, IPhone, IronMaiden, Mall Goths, New Wave of British Heavy Metal, NWOBHM, Pantera, Panterite, Rat Skates, Theater of Cruelty
Protests Erupt as Tyler Perry’s “Diary of A Mad Black Metal Artist” Starring Dani Filth Opens On Broadway
Tyler Perry is not usually one for controversy. His plays and movies typically portray painfully uninteresting people wandering through hackneyed plots repeating the sort of dialogue that could have easily been generated by a computer that has been fed the scripts from the top grossing comedies of the past 30 years. They are meant only to offend members of the John Birch Society and people who thought the whole cross-dressing bit in Mrs. Doubtfire took things “a bit too far”.
However, Perry’s recent foray into playwriting has been met by a flurry of criticism from the heavy metal community. Last Thursday, “Diary of A Mad Black Metal Artist”, the latest in the Madea series, opened on Broadway. Dani Filth, lead singer of the black metal band Cradle of Filth, plays the irascible but lovable grandmother usually played by Perry himself.
The story opens when Namond Brice, a good-natured young man with a penchant for getting in trouble in school, is sent by his parents Wee-Bay and De’Londa to live for a summer with live with his grandmother in order to teach him respect and discipline. Madea, who has just returned from a tour of Europe with her black metal band Carpathian Melanoma, at first struggles to relate to Namond and forces him to spend weeks being tortured in a homemade dungeon. Soon, however, the two bond over their love of Venom’s “Prime Evil” album and a deep, lasting relationship is formed. When bloodthirsty leechpeople attack Madea’s farmhouse, Namond uses a flamethrower to kill them and save his beloved grandmother.
In spite of fairly positive reviews from critics, many metalheads are enraged that Dani Filth was cast in the lead as Madea. “We stridently object to Dani Filth being cast in a play about black metal,” said BlaK Dan Krutzmeyer, head of Black Metal Fans For Decency, Purity and The Nordic Way. “To refer to Dani as being a black metal artist is a blatant mischaracterization of the black metal community. His band is, at best, gothic rock, at worst, a plague visited upon the human race to punish us for not bowing down in worship of The Gorgon.”
Krutzmeyer’s group has spent the past 76 hours blocking the entrance to The Eugene O’Neil Theater to try to stop people from attending the play. Several of the protestors have thrown fake blood on theatergoers. Three have even gone as far as to catapult bubonic plague infected bodies at members of the cast. Most of the 300 protestors have been arrested, including Krutzmeyer himself.
Perry has been astounded by the reaction to his latest play. “I have worked hard throughout my entire career to create the most unimaginative, pedestrian, bromidic possible pabulum. Having someone getting upset about one of my scripts is like seeing someone banging their fists with rage because their local supermarket doesn’t carry 2 percent milk. My work should be seen as a marketing strategy, certainly not as some deeply significant cultural artifact worth getting arrested over. Metalheads are some truly messed up people.”
(translated from the original grunts and pig noises by Walter Kaufmann)
When BlaK Dan had turned 37, he put down his autographed Burzum album collection and left the comfort of his basement and went into the mountains. He was alone. He waited for the one pure note to emerge from his body, uncontaminated with the essence of those creatures he had survived being around all these years. He did not tire of the solitude, for it is all he had ever wished for. But, at last, a change came over his heart, and one morning he rose with the dawn, stepped before the sun, and spoke to it thus:
“You great star, what would your happiness be if you realized you had to shine on all those who rest below you? If you realized that your light was illuminating the way for others, would you not extinguish yourself in a lake of tears?”
“Behold, I am weary of my own purity. These chumps at the bottom of the mountain, they spend their time waxing poetic about how much weight Snooki lost and what Jessie James Dupree will do for an encore. Even the ones that try to be pure of the world end up owning Metallica’s Reload on vinyl.”
“Bless the cup that wants to overflow and drown those at the bottom of this mountain with the righteous torrent of nothingness. For I am BlaK Dan and I am full of emptiness!”
BlaK Dan descended down the mountain and came upon and old man. The old man was wearing a Dio shirt. Blak Dan sneered.
“It has been a long time since you passed this way, BlaK Dan. The last time I saw you, you were carrying the ashes of the church burned by Samoth. Do you fear that arsonists do not get all the girls?”
“Out of my way, you old fool. I have no time for your false metal jokes or your tales of pits gone by. I have no time for women. Nor men for that matter. I have a world to cleanse of humanity. For I am BlaK Dan, and I have come to philosophize with the blastbeat.”
When BlaK Dan arrived at the next town, he found many people gathered together in the market place; for it had been promised that Black Sabbath would be performing a cover of N’Sync’s “Tearin’ Up My Heart”. And BlaK Dan spoke thus to the people:
“I teach you the Overman! For you people are something that is to be overcome! Ten years, ten long years, I sat in that cave at the top of the mountain pondering how to escape you forever. For even ten years of solitude couldn’t cure me of the memories of watching you simple-minded beasts jump from trend to trend in the name of impressing other people with your metalness. Well, I am here to tell you that I am the most metal. And I know this, because I am the most empty.”
“Behold, I cannot stomach any of you anymore, so I teach you the Overman. This one time I will tell you how to live correctly. Because I am bored. You will probably ignore it, because you are animals. But, at least at the end of your sorry, pitful existences, I can proudly tower over your coffin, telling anyone who will listen “I told you so!” But they will not listen either. Because they too are morons.”
“A polluted stream is metal and you donkeys lap it up as if it were the best thing you’ve ever tasted. One must be completely empty of all moisture to truly be metal. And I know, because I have emptied myself of all that is moist. All that is caring. All that is kind. I spit in the face of all that come to me seeking solace. I turn my back on humanity. I have emptied myself of melody. Of harmony. Of style. Of substance. I am the Overman, because I am Post-Everything!”
“And you say, ‘But what of God?’ And I say “God is dead! There is only me.” And you say, ‘But what of the joy music brings?’ And I say, ‘But what of the mud a pig wallows in. If the pig is happy, is that mud, in fact, holy?’”
“Once the sin against God was the greatest sin; but God died and now you’re stuck trying to piece together who you are from a bunch of copies of Slayer records. And so you replace your old God with Slayer and perform the same old silly rituals, only this time with the knowledge that you are a unique and clever fellow. You jump up and down and repeat evil words and think you are something special. You are no different than the idiots who came before you. The only difference is you buy more stuff.”
“You ask me what meaning has life. It is a contest that is already over. I got there first. You lose. Sucker. For you are still winding your way through Megadeth’s early discography and I am on Z. I have heard it all. I have done it all. That which I haven’t done isn’t worth doing anyway. I have come to the end of the road. You are a bunch of pimply-faced kids trying out your death stare on old people in the mall. I am the end point of history.”
Then, something happened that made every mouth gape open and every finger point. A cute puppy wandered into the center of the courtyard. The adorable animal jumped up and startled an infant. The infant giggled wildly. People pulled out their phones in order to record what was left of this magic moment and send it to thousands of different people all over the world. Finally, after all the commotion had died down they turned back to BlaK Dan. They all had forgotten what he was saying.
BlaK Dan left the town muttering under his breath. He found an uncomfortable place to sleep and lay down for what seemed like a thousand hours. At last, however, his eyes opened and gazed into the distance. He rose quickly, like a drunkard whose CD player had begun skipping, and announced to no one in particular that he had discovered a new truth.
“An insight has come to me: ‘People are perishable!’ Sure, everything about them disgusts me. They always want to play you the songs they like and use your mini-refrigerator to store food. They ramble on and on about useless ideas. They make funny noises. They smack their food when the chew. They fall asleep during the best part of Headbanger’s Ball. Will it not be better when they are all dead?”
“But I did not pay attention in Biology class, so I know not how to create a plague to wipe them all away. And I have neither the training nor the patience to seek out members of terrorist cells. And I have not the time nor the funding to buy weapons grade uranium. But I know this one thing. Eventually, they will all die. Sure, I too will die, and that will be a sad day, but I can take comfort in the thought that the rest of them will experience a fate at least as bad as my own, in some cases worse.”
“Some may outlive me, yes, but they too will eventually yield to their own mortality. Everyone on this earth will be dead at some point. Maybe even soon. As I ascend back to the top of the mountain to look down upon this tainted world, I can finally rest in the knowledge that no one ever gets what they want from life and it all ends brutally.”
“Life is a curse of which I hope they are soon cured. But, until then, they can have their dumb little lives. Let them bounce from one dumb crisis to another. Let them anxiously wait by their computers for news on who will be playing drums on the next Doro Pesch record. Let them get worked up over what Dave Mustaine thinks about the customer service at Men’s Warehouse. I am cured. It no longer matters. They are dead to me.”
My brother-in-law, BlaK Dan, is at it again. If you’ve been following his saga here at Tyranny, you already know that he lost all his money investing in Amway products and is sleeping on my couch until he “gets on his feet again”. He was living in a cave until a park ranger kicked him and his pet ferret out and now we are stuck with him. He does nothing but parade around our house wearing a Burzum tee-shirt and eating cornflakes out of a Qwik Rabbit mug he’s had since he was 8.
The man has no dreams, no goals other than one day managing a metal message board and playing one note black metal songs “whilst alone in a forest”. In order to keep him busy, my wife has asked me to let him write an occasional metal album review for the blog. Here’s where it gets tricky…he’s now refusing to listen to any metal. He’s decided that he will only write reviews of inanimate objects, because metal music is “unworthy of his talents”. So…here’s another in the endless, intolerable and ever-changing series now known as “BlaK Dan Reviews Ordinary Household Items”.
People who put ketchup on food are idiots. They have no idea of what food in its purest form tastes like. They are animals. They do not have the right to exist. When I am at a diner and a see one of these “people” consuming food with ketchup on it, I know they are sub-humans unworthy of the oxygen that Odin and I provide them with.
This blood-colored ooze spews out of disgustingly shaped bottles and pollutes our food with its hideous sweetness. If you are ever curious as to which amongst you are inferior, here’s a simple test. If they have defiled a perfectly good and pure lump of meat with this syrup of sickness, then you can rest assured that they are degenerate parasites who are wasting the flesh, bone and will that they were born with.
If you use ketchup, it is because you are weak. I refuse to tolerate your weakness. If I had my way, they’d bring back the guillotine and behead each and every one of you cowards. You violate all that is decent in our world then have the temerity to call me intolerant or unclean or in violation of local health code standards or someone who can’t live within 500 yards of an elementary school. It is you that are a pox upon our world, Ketchup-eater. And it is you that should pay the ultimate price for your life of decadence.
You befoul our forests and streams with your civilized blandishments and then wonder why your world is repulsive and depraved. The essence of life is being destroyed by an endless flow of ketchup. Ketchup in the mountains. Ketchup in the valleys. Ketchup in our seas. Ketchup in our forests. Ketchup in our oceans. Ketchup everywhere you look. Ketchup in the name of progress. You have contaminated the world and destroyed all that is sacred.
You think you are so clever. You eat your ketchup and you laugh and laugh and laugh. Ha, Ha, Ha….look at civilized me with my ketchup and my Italian leather shoes. Aren’t I something else? Look at my fancy ketchup eating wife and my two well-dressed ketchup-eating children. Aren’t I unique?
You think because you eat ketchup you have the right to judge me. I am above your judgments. You are slime. Like Zarathustra, I am surrounded by fools and idiots spewing a ridiculous ketchup-soaked morality that is meaningless. MEANINGLESS! I hear your snickers, I see your scorn, but it is you that are vile and you that are impure. If you hadn’t allowed ketchup to taint your world, you would know me and understand that you are unworthy to be in my presence. Instead, I am stuck here in moron hell watching you wallow in ketchup and despising every minute of it. I hate all of you.
A few weeks back, we did an interview with the 2011 Purest Man In Metal Award winner BlaK Dan Krutzmeyer (or xxxxZyr as his friends call him). What I did not reveal in the initial article was that BlaK Dan is actually my brother-in-law. About 5 years ago, BlaK Dan received a settlement from Costco after slipping on a wet spot in the cat food aisle and rupturing his spleen. Instead of spending that money wisely on food and shelter, BlaK Dan invested heavily in Amway products which he has been unable to sell even at steeply discounted prices.
In order to recoup his investment, BlaK Dan has been showing up at our front door at the crack of dawn trying to get me to buy cases of Nutralite Vitamins and 100 count boxes of hand sanitizer. At first, my wife and I tried to help him or, at least, keep to the terms of the restraining order we have against him. But BlaK Dan is persistent and we are running out options that don’t involve having some guy named Yuri The Blade drop him into the Atlantic Ocean. I have no use for Amway Products and I am tired of having to deal with the guy, so I told him that I’d pay him if he stays away from our home and writes me a metal album review from time to time. Maybe the reviews will keep him busy and stop him calling us at 2 AM in a drunken haze to cry about the lack of woodwinds on the recent Burzum album.
Anyway, here’s the first (and hopefully last) in a series of articles called “BlaK Dan Reviews Albums He Hates”…..
Alright, so first of all, I need to tell you that this album sucks. It’s so obvious that it sucks, I don’t even need to listen to it. I could feel the suckiness through the latex gloves I used to handle it. Out of a scale of 1 to 10, it gets a negative 12 billion. It is meant to sap the spirit of those who fight the battle to remain unscarred by the joy and happiness that goes on around them. It is a Trojan Bull sent into BlaK Dan’s City of Darkness to try to destroy the China Shop that is his purity. BlaK Dan will not be fooled!
People like to argue that Metallica sold out when they recorded …And Justice For All or The Black Album or when they did a video for “One”. This is not true. Metallica sold out well before the time of their birth. While James Hetfield’s mother was pregnant with him, she listened to a good amount of Elvis Presley. Recent research conducted by researchers has conclusively shown that fetuses exposed to Elvis music will become humans who write sucky, sell-out music 98 percent of the time. James was born to suck.
That drummer who looks like a Muppet is no good either. What’s his deal?!?! He strikes me as the type of guy who’s in it to meet women or make money or to be famous or something. He’s probably got a room in his house filled with nothing but KC and The Sunshine band pictures. Why does he need all those drums? He doesn’t even use most of them. I’ve seen pictures of him smiling, too. If I knew for sure I could keep my Bathory vinyls in prison, I would crush his head with a boulder whilst reading from the Necronomicon.
Like I say, I’d never listen to a Metallica album, but if I did, I bet they have choruses on them. And melodies. And harmonies. And lyrics about feelings. And songs about how much they cried when their dog ran away when they were eight. And stuff about how when they were kids people laughed and wouldn’t invite them to birthday parties because they had stupid Gobots instead of Transformers like all the cool kids. And songs about how personal hygiene is important. Dumb sucky stuff for losers who buy furniture and go to shopping malls.
I have so far burnt over 300 copies of this album in an attempt to unfoul the universe of smut. I plan on keeping myself and my pet ferret Varg warm in our cave all winter by the light of this epically sucky piece of suckdom. A suck free cave with blazing Metallica albums and all the berries and squirrel we can eat. The way Odin would have wanted it.
The Tyranny of Tradition is proud to announce that this year’s prestigious award for The Purest Man in All of Metal was presented this morning to BlaK Dan Krutzmeyer of Mechanicsburg, Pennsylvania. BlaK Dan won the award in 2010-11 for his undying commitment to the cause of real, black, pure, true heavy metal. We had a chance to catch up with him after this morning’s ceremony at The Radisson Hotel in Kenosha, Wisconsin.
Tyranny: BlaK Dan, we are really excited to catch up with you on such an important day. How are you feeling?
BlaK Dan: Bleak, man. Bleak. Before we go any further, I need to straighten something out with you. My name is no longer BlaK Dan. Two months ago I had it legally changed to XxxxZyr. XxxxZyr was Odin’s nephew’s horse. The original name of the horse had some vowels in it, but I removed them because vowels are feminine and, thus, impure.
Tyranny: Vowels are feminine and impure?
XxxxZyr: Yes, vowels imply weakness and girlishness. Allowing any form of femininity to enter into my soul would make me less pure. I refuse to use vowels. It takes away from my inner purity.
Tyranny: So, do you have a girlfriend?
XxxxZyr: No, I refuse to weaken myself by communicating in any way with women. I rarely will talk to men either. When I do, I try to communicate in a long dead language like Aramaic. That way, our conversation will be more pure. I have agreed to use an impure language like English for this interview as part of the terms of receiving my award, but I plan on never using this contaminated language again.
Tyranny: Okay, moving right along. XxxxZyr, I’ve heard you are in a metal band. What sort of music do you play?
XxxxZyr: My band is a one-man project. We are called grrrvkw, in honor of the sound humans make when yawning, one of the few truly pure things a person can do. To play my music, I go out into the deepest part of the forest with my guitar. I find a cool, quiet spot as far from civilization as possible, where I can capture my inner essence and then I roll around in leaves for an hour. When I emerge from the leaves, I play one dark note and hold it for three hours. I do this four times a day. I will not defile my music by playing it in front of an audience or recording it. I’ve got to keep it pure, man.
Tyranny: What sort of music do you enjoy listening to?
XxxxZyr: Okay, first of all, I do not enjoy anything. Enjoyment is a weakened state. It allows one to become out of touch with their inner-purity. I enjoy nothing.
Second of all, I will only listen to the purest forms of metal. Nothing impure will enter my ears. I used to listen to bands like Iron Maiden, but I realized that by recording their music, they sold out. The only pure thing they did was a recording Steve Harris’ mother accidently made of him crying when he was two days old. I own a copy of it on vinyl and listen to it from time to time. That was before they started selling out and playing music for “people”. Everyone who has ever recorded anything or played anything in front of other humans or even thought for one second about the effects of their music on others is a sell-out and I have no time for them.
Tyranny: What are your goals and plans now that you have been declared the most pure man in all of metal?
XxxxZyr: Well, first of all, I want to make it clear that this award doesn’t matter to me. I don’t need to be told I’m pure by anyone else. You are speaking to a man who spent a lifetime looking into the darkest and purest of internal voids. I need nothing from you. As a matter of fact, your very presence diminishes me.
In terms of goals, I am looking for a job where my understanding of purity will be an asset. I long to one day become a metal message board administrator. I could spend the next 60 years of my life making sure that threads are not polluted by comments that go off of the exact theme that the person who began the thread meant. All sarcasm, humor and other weakening agents will be eliminated under my reign. This sort of defilement of message boards should be punishable by death.
Tyranny: Congrats on the award, XxxxZyr, and good luck.
XxxxZyr: Okay, again, you are missing the point. I feel nothing but hatred in its purest form in this moment. As the gods intended it. I do not accept your praise, because by doing so I am lessening myself. I plan on tossing this award into a blazing fire when I return to my cave. I have polluted myself by being near others. This ritual is shameful and I hope to never experience anything like it again.
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